to count the ways I kiss you
by Andie Leigh
Summary: A fanfic in which I explore all the ways bellarke could have their first kiss- rated M for simply atrocious language- and some possible future situations. (Was originally planned as a oneshot, but laziness took over- future parts to come)
1. Chapter 1

**A fanfic in which I explore all the ways bellarke could have their first kiss.**

**Because someone had to do it.**

**1. ****the almost kiss**

Clarke laughed as she dodged yet another splash of water from Octavia, finding her poor aim was one of the best entertainment systems around here.

"You're terrible!" She yelled gleefully over the shrieks and giggles of other campers around them. Octavia huffed at her statement, though she fought to keep the smile from her lips.

"No, I'm no-"She gasped mid-sentence as freezing cold water was tipped over her head. Turning around, she saw Jasper was the grinning culprit, a huge red bucket in his hands, now empty.

"You son of a bit-"She cut off with a squeal as he attempted to run through the water, (and failed, mostly) and dove after him, trying to grab at his shirt.

Clarke watched them with something of a blissful smile. For once, no impending war hung low over their heads, no battle plans, and no camper deaths. A treaty had been organised, families from the ark were to come down soon, and the campers were relishing their last days with no rules. She grimaced ever so slightly, but chose not to disturb the couple making out in the corner.

Things were _way _past PG by now.

She smiled, spread her arms wide, and ran her arms through the water, loving the rare feeling of clean on her skin.

"Having fun there, princess?"

Bellamy's voice rang close, and turning, she saw he stood behind her, a devilish glint reflecting in both his eyes and his smirk.

She narrowed her own eyes playfully.

"Whatever you're thinking about doing, just don-"He cut her off, sending a tidal wave her way. And unfortunately, unlike Octavia, his aim was perfect.

She gasped as it effectively soaked through her top, making the material cling to her. His eyes immediately went to the thin piece of clothing, and not bothering to hide it, he let his smirk grow, eyes still roaming her chest.

Oh he did _not._

"You're going to regret that." She said in a sing-song voice, dropping her hands further into the water, a smirk on her lips that rivalled his.

"Bring it."

And boy, she did.

She snatched the bucket out of the hands of a laughing Jasper, and before you could say 'princess' had soaked _him _to the bone.

It was quite a glorious sight, not just the shirt clinging to his abs, his muscled arms, but the way his wet hair stuck to his head, curls vigorous as ever, and the way he almost instantly became uncomfortable.

She laughed something of a manic, evil laugh, and attempted to swim away from him.

She couldn't.

He caught her kicking legs, tangled them together, as she shrieked to be released, and grabbed her hips in a firm, but gentle, grip, as he lifted her out of the water and into the shockingly cold air. She was still laughing, but she'd felt a lot better when he was the uncomfortable one.

"Bellamy! Let me down!" She cried, hitting against his chest.

"Nuh-uh. Paybacks a bitch, huh, princess?" His smirk transformed itself into a boyish grin, and Clarke saw how it made him seem younger, less torn down with the afflictions of the world.

And she was the cause of that growing grin.

How strange.

"And you're a bastard!" She replied cheekily, even daring to stick her tongue out at him.

"Is that so?" He raised an eyebrow, and dug his deft fingers into her sides.

He was _not _tickling her.

"Oh, god! Stop! Stop!" She cried in between fits of manic laughter, trying desperately to squirm away from his grip.

The devilish glint returned to his sparkling eyes.

"I want you to beg me, princess."

She shook her head vehemently.

"No! Never!"

His attack continued mercilessly.

"No! I won't!"

She screamed through hilarity, and Bellamy laughed.

"Bastard!"

"Come on princess, where are your manners?"

"The same place as your modesty!"

He wouldn't give up though, no matter how many times she insulted him, and Clarke quickly became short of breath.

She relented.

"Okay, okay! I give up!"

He stopped only for a second, and she took the opportunity to gulp down greedy amounts of air.

"What are the magic words, princess?" He mimicked the sing-song voice she had used earlier, enjoying immensely the feeling of Clarke in his hands.

She glared at him, but he saw the mirth.

"_Please_ let me down, you sadistic son of a bitch."

He smiled at her then. Not grinning, not smirking, but a real, true smile.

Clarke had never seen one before.

She liked it.

"Well, since you said _please…"_

He dropped her hips, catching her when she came falling down by the waist.

He hadn't intended for their faces to be suddenly very close together, for her top to ride up, and for his hands to be resting on her creamy skin, her lips suddenly very red, and very close…

His hands were fire, her skin, ice. She thought that if he kept looking at her the way he was, she would melt under his fixed gaze, his eyes sizzling coals. He was inches away from her, so close; she could count the splattering of light freckles upon his face. She looked into his eyes then, and had to refrain from gasping at what was there.

Hunger, lust. For, her?

His hands moved then, inching further up her skin, leaving burning patterns in their wake.

Her hands were on his shoulders, for when he'd dropped her from the air, she'd clung to the closest thing she could reach, and in this instance, this had been him. She moved her hands now, bringing them to lock loosely around his neck.

Slowly, they inched deliciously closer, and as she reached up to meet his searching lips, he dipped his head downwards slowly, until they were breathing the same air, their breaths mingling, and both their bodies shook with a timid excitement. Closer, closer, no more than a millimetre away now, and-

"CLAAAAAAAARKE!"

Octavia's shrill scream rose out, above the laughter and talk, and Clarke and Bellamy sprung apart. Clarke tried her best not to look agitated- Bellamy looked pissed as anything.

"Yeah?" She yelled back, now hyper aware the whole camp was looking at her.

"Nothin'." She called back, smirking.

"Just trying to prevent an inevitable doom a little longer." She gestured to the two.

"And to piss off Bellamy." She added.

They both glared at her then.

**2. ****the broken kiss**

"IT WAS A DUMB FUCKING IDEA!"

Bellamy's raucous shout bellowed through camp, and is of cue; everyone winced against the harsh sound, wanting to escape his blinding fury.

And they weren't even in the same room.

Bellamy stood with Clarke in the drop ship, their expressions mirroring each other- wrathful convulsion, distrust, and a bitter flame nurtured into a blazing inferno.

They weren't happy bunnies.

"WE HAD TO TRY SOMETHING! WE'VE BEEN AT WAR FOR TOO LONG, BELLAMY! WE. CAN'T. WIN. WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO UNDERSTAND THAT?" Clarke shot back at him, ablaze with something more than simple fury.

"YOU DON'T SAY SHIT LIKE THAT! WE TRY, CLARKE! BECAUSE THAT'S THE BEST WE CAN DO- WE DON'T SURRENDER TO THE ENEMY!" Bellamy all but screamed at her, the tension in the room heightened to something new, something dangerous.

Clarke let out a bitter laugh.

"What's left to surrender? They've destroyed the camp. They've wrecked our food supplies. We have practically no clean water! The only thing they can take now, are our lives- and we're only barley clinging onto those. Tell me Bellamy, what else can they take?"

Her voice now grew quiet, cracking near the end. And suddenly, he understood. The truth dawned on him as cold water would trickle down your back, as you'd sense another presence in a supposedly empty room- with a terrifying sense of dread.

The princess' crown had finally fallen.

She stared at him, quiet tears falling freely down her scarred cheeks, and he was reminded of the first time Clarke had cried- tears of blood. And now she cried for all those that had shed blood, for the countless number of lives that had been lost in the war without end, and the lives that would soon be lost. These tears of blood were endless.

Her façade was lost, and before him was no longer a warrior, or a privileged princess, but a girl, a girl that had fought so strongly for so many years, and whose layers had finally come tumbling down, stripped away. And here she was, naked to the core, without her brick walls to protect her from hurt and pain.

She was broken.

And she was beautiful.

He gathered her in his arms, and she didn't protest against his warm skin on hers, didn't pull herself away from his embrace, but let herself sob into his shoulder, let the breaths come ragged and torn, and let him gather the pieces of her together again, stitch them back together into one, jagged, messy and strangely dysfunctional piece.

But he made her whole again.

She looked up at him now, eyes raw and red from crying, hair flying in a thousand different directions, cheeks flushed, and lips a bright red from the constant chewing between her teeth.

He found his gaze lingered on her lips, and when he did eventually look up to her eyes, hers were on his lips too, wide and unfocused. He stroked a piece of hair behind her ear, and caught her leaning into his hand, cheek nuzzled against it.

He offered a small smile, trying hard to stop it from bursting out into a full-blown, toothy grin.

"It's gonna be, okay, princess." He murmured softly, stroking a finger against her cheek, keeping the other free arm locked tightly around her waist, hers tangled in his hair, around his neck.

"Why do you call me that?" She asked quietly, looking into his eyes.

"What- princess?"

She nodded, playing with his curls.

He remembered why he started calling it her, it had been a term of mockery representing her position up on the ark, the healers daughter had always been well treated, lived a perfect life. He'd always believed her to be superficial, no depth, and so that had been his nickname, because that's what he'd thought her to be- a modern representation of a perfect little princess in her perfect little world.

He didn't know when that's changed, when he'd saw, that like everyone else, her world had cracks running through it, deep, harsh and jagged cracks, that had torn away a her sanity and happiness. That when he'd saw, she wasn't just a superficial bitch, but a real girl, probably braver, and smarter, and better than he could ever be.

Somewhere along the line, his nickname had become a term of respect, perhaps, even endearment.

He knew he wouldn't be able to explain all of this to her without stumbling over his words and stuttering like an idiot, so instead, he settled for something that he thought summed it up.

"Because you're embodied proof of something more."

She smiled now, tears dry and forgotten, and fitted her mouth over his.

He didn't have to think about kissing her back, as he brought both hands around her waist, and pressed his lips just as firmly against hers as she had with him.

She was still smiling against his lips, and as he moved to cover her neck with soft caresses, she laughed.

"What?" He mumbled against the skin of her neck.

"I'm something more." She replied, and he could hear the smugness in her voice. He rolled his eyes, but didn't deny it.

Because that was what life with Clarke Griffin was- complimenting her, and then immediately regretting it.

**3. ****the claiming kiss**

Clarke was _really _starting to lose it now.

Gritting her teeth, she turned to face Finn, clenching her fist as if to not throw something at him.

The boy simply did not know the meaning of the words _leave me alone._

"Finn. Listen. To. Me. It is _fine _about you and Raven. We were together for one night- you never thought you'd see her again. _I get it." _She emphasised the last part, trying to communicate to him that it really was okay. I mean, sure, it stung, but she was just glad it had happened before any real feelings had time to grow.

Now _that_ would've hurt like a bitch.

She smiled, even patted his shoulder a few times, turned on her heel and again attempted to walk away from him.

Aaaaaand of course, he caught her shoulder and spun her right back around.

She groaned internally. This was just not her night.

"Clarke, listen- I feel awful about everything," Well wasn't he a freaking saint? "And I love Raven, I do, but you and me, we shared something. A connection. You can't deny that."

She raised an eyebrow at his persistence. Well, damn if this boy wasn't determined to make her admit that she felt something for him.

But really, there was simply nothing to admit. No declaration to announce, no gushing and longing stares to be had, and whatever 'connection' Finn was talking about, well, it was unrequited.

She closed her eyes, trying to take calming breaths. If he didn't stop badgering her, she was just going to have to go and make a scene.

"Finn. There was no connection. It was one night of sex, and I'm sorry, but there is nothing, nor will there ever be, anything between us. Okay?"

He winced at her words, and she realised that _somehow _an apology had weaselled its way in there.

_She _was apologising to _him?_

There was something very wrong with that. She'd done nothing wrong. But she knew if she made something out of it, it would result in a scene, and really, there were more important things to be done.

Besides, Raven was glaring at her from the other side of the camp, and she actually liked Raven, so she wasn't about to doom another relationship.

Because this one, really was, just destroyed.

She walked away from Finn again, and thankfully, this time, he didn't try to stop her. She walked into the medic bay, and fell into a chair, rubbing her temples. She was so _tired._

"A little stressed there, princess?" Bellamy Blake questioned, strolling into the medic bay, looking as though he had not a care in the world.

Lucky bastard.

"Oh, _no_! This is me when I'm fucking happy." She snapped at him, earning a small smirk.

"Woo. Someone's feeling a little _bitchy,_ today." He grinned as she became more agitated with him, temper rising.

She shook her head.

"You self-satisfying, repellent little son of a bitch."

"Ooh, _extra- _bitchy today."

She wanted to kill him.

She wanted to fucking kill the bastard.

"Is it spacewalker? Its spacewalker, isn't it? Sit; tell me your troubles so I may wash them away."

"I _am_ sitting you moronic cretin."

He laughed, which in turn, earned him a hateful look.

"Not all of us get our kicks out of meaningless sex, you know." She glowered at him, and he wiped the smile from his face, suddenly turning dead serious.

"Whoever said it was meaningless?" He questioned, stepping closer towards her, and leaning down so that they were on the same level.

She rolled her eyes.

"You do. Every time you add another girl into your disgusting little harem." She made a face, imagining what Bellamy had to _say _to these girls to get them into his bed.

"You wondering what I say to them?" He asked, leaning closer to her. So that was just a tad creepy- how'd he know that?

She didn't have much longer to dwell on her thoughts though as he came impossibly closer, turning so his breath ghosted across her ear.

She wasn't sure what he was doing to her as logic dissolved quickly in her head, breaking apart to become thoughts she shouldn't be having- wrong thoughts.

He trailed a finger along the bare skin of her arm, slowly, softly, just an echo of his touch, and breathed sweet nothings into her ear, even going as far as to take her earlobe in between his teeth.

She felt her resolve weakening, giving into him, melting into his meaningless words, and his nothing touches.

Wait. Was he trying to _seduce _her?

Was he _succeeding _in seducing her?

She pulled away from him quickly, tearing her arm away from his wandering touch, her ear away from his addictive mouth.

He laughed silently, and when she spoke her voice came out throaty, and lower than expected.

"What the hell was that?"

He shrugged, standing up, a grin forming quickly.

"The time-old art of seduction. Did it answer your question?"

Clarke pushed away the clouded haze as he spoke, but became engulfed in it again very quickly.

"Question…?"

She quickly realised she was only adding to his arrogant confidence.

"I'm that good." He teased, though she thought she saw a flash of lust in his eyes.

It was gone too quickly though, she couldn't have classified it.

She attempted another eye-roll.

"Like it means anything. Besides, you didn't seduce me. How could you? I _know _where that mouth's been- that's the problem." She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly, and walked out into camp, brushing past him and ignoring the tingles that ran up her arm.

Clarke sat down around the fire, and ignored Bellamy as he came out of the medic bay. However, it became increasingly harder to ignore him as he took he seat directly opposite her, over the fire.

She tried not to see how his eyes burned brighter than the fire.

She really did.

It didn't work.

At some point in the night, during a certain staring match between the two leaders, a girl tried to position herself on Bellamy's lap. Clarke expected him to take her back to his tent, have his wicked way with her.

He all but shoved the girl off his lap.

Clarke stared with wide eyes as he did this, and looked after the girl as she walked off, embarrassed at being rejected. She turned her gaze back on Bellamy, who grinned devilishly at her.

She wasn't sure if she liked it.

Secretly, she knew she did.

She saw him stand from his seat, a dangerous glint still in his eyes, but her gaze was torn away from him as Finn came to sit beside her.

Did his boy not get the message she had so clearly tried to convey?

She sighed, readying herself for the fierce argument to come, but as Finn opened his mouth to speak, Bellamy interrupted, popping his head in the small space between Clarke and Finn.

"Excuse me, may I interrupt?" He questioned, ignoring the quizzical look Finn's face.

And before either of them had time to react, he pressed his lips against Clarkes.

She made a noise against his lips, and whether it was a noise of pleasure, an angry shout, or perhaps even a whimper, they'll never know, because it was lost amongst them soon enough.

She rested her hands around his neck, and his lay on her arms, drawing patterns that she couldn't even begin to focus on, because she was _kissing_ Bellamy Blake.

Killing? Yes.

Kissing? No.

She couldn't help but compare him to Finn, because where Finn was all sweetness and shyness, Bellamy was fire and burning- and she found she much preferred the intense heat of the fire, the basking glow.

They pulled away eventually, panting and gasping, to the catcalls of the camp.

"Wooo! Get in there, Blake!"

Bellamy grinned, but Clarke found she was incapable of doing anything but staring at him, wide-eyed. He pecked her lips once more- just a feather touch that left her wanting much more- and turned to Finn, smirking in victory.

"Please, by all means, continue your conversation."

**_(Part two to come at a later date…)_**

**_(providing you provide me with some fabulous reviews that make me laugh/blush- I'll take what I can get.)_**


	2. Chapter 2

**4. the always kiss**

This wasn't happening.

They were _not _leaving.

He wasn't leaving her…

Clarke stared at him, uncaring of anyone's opinion. His back was facing her, and he was talking animatedly with the two soldiers in front of him. A single glance at him, and you'd think him happy, excited.

But he couldn't hide it from her. She knew he was afraid of the enemies he was soon to face in battle. Scared of the further suffering he'd see, the murders he'd have to make.

She didn't care what anyone else said- he was _not _a murderer.

Or at least, he didn't want to be.

He was an idiot. A reckless, hot-headed, impulsive _idiot._ She knew that he'd only signed up for the war out of an act of guilt, and a moronic sense of ignorant bravery.

_"All those people up there," he'd said pointing up towards the sky, "they suffocated, they died, because I was- am a selfish moron. The least I can do is fight for the families that are left, Clarke. I need to do something that will show them how I sorry, I really am."_

He didn't call her princess anymore.

Octavia slid up next to her, glaring at her brother. It seemed they were on the same page when it came down to some of Bellamy's recent decisions.

What a fool he was, angering the two women that loved him most.

"He's stupid. And I'll kill him before he has a chance to get out of this camp." Octavia muttered darkly. You'd think she might hate him, if you were to simply only see the heated scowl set upon her defined features, but if you looked closer, you'd see the slight shake to her hands, the single defect in her armour.

Clarke saw it.

Octavia was scared.

Clarke wanted to comfort her, tell her everything was going to be all right, promise a better tomorrow that beat away the icy clutches of today, but then she would be lying, and above all things, Clarke Griffin was not a liar.

And Octavia Blake was not a fool.

So instead, Clarke spoke the only words that she thought could offer comfort, if any were to be found in this nightmarish world.

"I'm scared too."

Octavia turned to look at her, eyes awash with a gleam of a growing dread- that was something new.

The cracks in her armour grew larger, big gaping holes, voids that only a brother's reassurance could fill- a brother's reassurance that would never come.

Clarke pulled Octavia to her, and Octavia let out small sobs into her chest, a broken hope's desires, and the tears became quicker, and hotter, and suddenly, Clarke felt it tearing away at her defences too, the urge to scream at him until her throat dried up, and the overwhelming need to fall into the deep dark corners of the world and whimper and weep and bawl until the tears could come no longer, until she could wash the sorrows away.

She couldn't.

She wouldn't.

She shut her eyes tightly, pulled up the remains of her defences firmly around her, wrapped securely around her arms to fight away silly things like heart break and hurt.

But Bellamy Blake had condemned her to feelings, and damn him for it.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw them, deep-set brown eyes staring straight back at her.

Oh, damn him to hell.

He wasn't glaring at her- a common case, she found- or wearing his stupid infamous smirk that made the women of the ground fling, no _hurl _their bodies onto his, but simply staring, studying.

From the pink swell of her lips, to her falling golden lights, his roamed over her face, and for a single moment, she was reminded of a predator and its prey.

But then his eyes met hers, and suddenly he was everywhere, invading every sane thought trying to squeeze through her mind, polluting it with him, with the simple essence of him, tugging away at her sanity, resurfacing memories she pushed to the back of her mind, dangerous memories, memories that made her feel things, she simply did not want to feel.

Did he enjoy torturing her?

She turned, unable to hold his burning, searing gaze for a moment longer, afraid to what he could do to her with only his gaze.

She looked to Octavia then, still a whimpering mess in her arms, and she pulled her up, away from the fire and the talk of war, and the burning gaze of Bellamy Blake, and tugged her into her tent, where they were safe to cry, and find solace in the silence.

Because silence was always better than the screaming.

The screams awaited them.

When Clarke awoke the next day, the camp was fraught with shouts and calls, and beckons and screams- battle cries.

The soldiers were leaving.

She turned to look at Octavia, who had eventually fallen asleep on the floor, to find her nowhere, already left.

Had he already left?

With that thought, and such a crashing sense of despair, she threw herself from the cold stiffness of the makeshift bed, hurled her body through the curtains.

The only way to describe the camp was chaos, with a mix of panicked shouts and charged screams, and bodies moving so fast that Clarke had to take a step back to avoid being caught in it all.

But then she was, because in the middle of everything, shouting orders for calm and quiet, was Bellamy Blake.

She rushed towards him then, forgetting about protecting herself from further pain and heartbreak, because he was there, and he was _leaving._

He didn't see her running, but when he did catch sight of her, he looked startled, confused, even.

She decided she didn't care as she crushed her lips against his.

He was resistant towards her for about half a second, but then her hands were in his hair, and she was grabbing at him and he broke.

He brought his hands to her waist, and it was desperate as he pulled them impossibly closer, and it was shattered as their tongues met, and it was frantic as she fisted his curls in her small hands, tugging and pulling, and wanting more and more and _more…_

They fell apart from one another, gasping, still remaining so close that she could see his pupils dilate, and he could see the tiny curls in her golden hair.

He closed her eyes, and nuzzled her nose against his.

"You come back to me, you hear me?" She murmured softly, her fingers on the back of his neck.

He pressed his lips against hers again, in a soft, chaste kiss, just a sweet touching of the lips, and she felt the hope bloom in her chest, bursting through the crumbling of despair.

He smiled.

"Always, princess."

**5. the jealousy kiss**

She knew that she shouldn't care.

She knew that she should leave Bellamy to his own sexual escapades.

She definitely knew she shouldn't want to _rip that little bitches head off._

Yet strangely, she still did.

It was all his fault, really. He was the one that insisted they needed to spend more time together- as leaders. He was the one that'd said that it would be better for the camp if they put up a united front, and showed that they at peace with one another. She'd really no choice but to eventually, reluctantly agree to his plan. She knew he was right.

But she also knew he was maddeningly infuriating.

It really hadn't worked at first; it'd actually resulted in more arguments, more screaming at one another, and a lot less of a supposed 'united front.' They'd yelled so many obscenities at one another, that they'd almost scraped the entire idea.

But then something strange happened- he made her laugh. And it wasn't just a tiny, little laugh, but a bellowing raucous laughter, that he'd eventually joined in, because she was just making such a fool of herself.

He'd told a stupid joke- one ironically enough, she couldn't even remember now- but she'd found it simply hilarious, and she'd howled with laughter, until breathing had become a difficulty.

They'd decided that maybe, they would continue with this idea of his.

It'd worked, and they'd formed a bond, and for a while she was happy with this, happy that she wasn't now always on the end of some serious Blake attitude, but from the friendship, had stemmed something more, something that by the time she realised it'd grown, taken on a deeper form, it was too late to halt it in its path. And now consequently, she knew what it was like to be on the other end of unrequited emotions.

The end where you felt like crap every time you saw the other person parade their latest conquest around camp, that was.

Oh boy, if he didn't parade those girls.

The latest one he was working on was Harper, and she was practically frothing at the mouth with excitement of the attention.

Like she was special, Clarke couldn't help but think bitterly.

She really wasn't though. Clarke couldn't help but notice the steady increase of girls in Bellamy's tent in the recent months, and their quality had begun to drop.

In fact, one of her favourite games had become mentally insulting the girls that came out of Bellamy's tent at shameful hours.

She knew it was petty, but there was very little entertainment around here, and she found it was quite an excellent stress reliever to doctoring patients for the entirety of the day.

_"Wonky tooth- damn if she's not awkward to kiss."_

_"Strange obsession with nuts."_

_"Believes in a pancake entity."_

_"She smells weird."_

It really was, very amusing, and she didn't even care that she felt just a smidge pathetic.

That was, until now, as she watched Harper and Bellamy talking, her leaning over to whisper something in his ear, and him smiling awkwardly. She inwardly scoffed. How pitiful could this girl get?

And then (finally) something snapped inside her. _She _was the one being pitiful, and it was all for just a boy. There were clearly more pressing issues at hand, so why was she concentrating so much on this? She had patients waiting!

She shook her head, angry at herself for how pathetic she was being, and walked over to a small fire, intending to sterilise a needle for one of the patients. She held it over the fire carefully, concentrating on keeping it directly above it, and ignoring the heat as it grew warmer on her skin.

Her concentration slipped momentarily as a shrill laugh pierced the dull, droning sound of quiet talk. Clarke turned her head, and saw Harper with her hand on Bellamy's arm, and though he did look just a smidge uncomfortable, it wasn't like he was pushing her off.

She fought down the jealousy, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.

She was distracted just long enough for the needle to slip from her grasp.

She gasped, instinctively dove her hand forwards to get it, but just as her forefinger came in contact with the convulsing blaze, she actually realised what she was _doing- _trying to grab something out of a _burning fire_- and pulled back just in time for a sharp gulp of pain envelop her finger.

She hissed in a quiet irritation, more than in injury, but people still turned to look at her. She yelled for someone to put the fire out, and Octavia was by her side, hauling a bucket of water over the small inferno, and Clarke smiled in gratitude, grabbed a cloth and picked the needle up, her hand safely tucked away from its heat.

She turned, walked into the drop ship, and held a finger up to gesture to the patient that she'd just be a sec. She dropped the needle on the side, and ran her finger under some cold water as a remedy.

She sighed in silent relief.

So maybe it stung, just a little.

She closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to gather.

That was _so _his fault.

"Clarke?"

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"Yeah?" She called back as he came to stand by her.

"Are you alright?" He asked in concern, eyes darting to her finger positioned under the tap.

She waved his little distress away. "I'm fine, barely touched the fire."

He still looked slightly worried, but his features softened into a smile, eyes taking on a familiar twinkle. "Oh, you wild one, you."

She rolled her eyes, but offered up an impish grin, flipping her hair over her shoulder dramatically.

"Haven't you heard? You can't tame this." She gestured down to herself.

The atmosphere changed.

His eyes smoothed over her body, catching every curve, every smooth arch of her body. He did this both uncaringly and carefully, uncaring of an audience, careful to inspect her every feature.

Was that _lust _tangled into those deep, dark eyes?

His gaze met hers.

Hunger sparked through.

"Clearly."

His voice sent chills down her spine.

Someone coughed awkwardly in the corner, bringing them both crashing back into reality.

"Oh!" Clarke breathed out, remembering the kid in the corner. Oh, god. He actually made her _forget _about another presence in the room.

Those stupid eyes.

"I'm sorry. We'll just-"

"Leave."

Clarke's rushed out apology was cut off by Bellamy's deep voice cutting through the internal panic attack she was having.

The kid was more than happy to comply.

"Bellamy! What the hell? I need to-"

Her scolding was cut off as he reached and brought her hand away from the tap, flicking it off, capturing it in his firm grip.

She looked at him hesitantly.

"What are-?"

He brought her finger into his mouth.

She gasped, though didn't try to pull away. He sucked at the minor burn, teeth grazing further up her finger, and all the while keeping her gaze steady.

She was surprised, to say the least.

"What are you doing?" She managed to croak, feeling just a tad light-headed. Oh god, what was this man _doing _to her?

He smirked, releasing her finger. "Being a gentleman, and treating the lady's burn." His smirk grew wider.

"By sucking it?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged.

"Sucking's always a good remedy."

He did _not._

He savoured the look on her face.

This was a _perfect_ time for Harper to come crashing in.

She ignored Clarke's presence almost completely, and smiled seductively at Bellamy. Clarke thought she probably should have just spread out her legs, and wore a sign that said '_come hither.'_ That would've been more discreet, at least.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go and chat. Y'know, somewhere _private- _away from prying eyes," She looked pointedly at Clarke- god, petty much? "Maybe your tent."

Really? _Really? _She was offering herself up on a platter, and she didn't even know his age. Well, technically, Clarke didn't either- but she wasn't the one offering sex.

The jealously there again, stabbing at her vividly. And though she couldn't see Bellamy's face, she imagined him smirking at his consequent- happy with how this had all panned out. He had Clarke, here at his damn _mercy,_ and a girl all but throwing herself at him.

Why should he be happy, when she'd spent the last months miserable? He did not have the right to flirt with her, and then go and have sex with another girl.

She tried to piece together a really good excuse for what she did next, but she could really only put it down to impulse, as she spun him around, and landed her lips on his.

He was shocked at first, but through Clarke's unwavering confidence as the firmness of her lips against his, his shock melted into desire, and he kissed her beck with equal amounts of sexual frustration. Her hands were on his back, nails digging into him, but he could barely register the pain, when he had Clarke here, wrapped up against him.

Now _he _was the one feeling light-headed.

She broke away from him, and his lips found her throat. She looked over his shoulder to Harper, whose emotions were a mix of dejection, rejection and a broken hunger.

Shame, that.

Clarke smiled sweetly at her. "As you can see, Bellamy's going to unavailable tonight- and every night after that, just in case you got any ideas. But you know- nice try."

Harper glared at her, but Clarke kept the smile upon her face, shamelessly enjoying the other girl's resentment towards her.

"Bye, bye, now."

Harper finally turned and left them alone in the drop ship, where Bellamy was chuckling quietly against her neck. "Every night, huh, princess?" He questioned casually, resting his palms on her hips.

She pulled on his hair lightly, pulling him up to meet her eyes, the only light in the darkened space.

"Damn right."

**6. the passionate kiss**

"No."

Bellamy stood directly across from Clarke in his tent, his brown eyes clouded over in stubbornness. Was she really suggesting this? _Really?_

"Bellamy, I know how it sounds, but-"

"I really don't think you do, because it sounds like you _pity _the bastards, Clarke."

Unlike Clarke, who was at least _attempting _to stay calm, it seemed as if Bellamy was seconds away from erupting, spitting out cruel and vile words all over her.

"Bellamy, some of them, they're innocent! They weren't all fighters! There are-"

"They tried to kill us, or have you forgotten that already?"

Clarke sighed. She really was getting sick of being interrupted now. And he was just too blinded by a growing wrath to see it.

"Of course I haven't. But what I'm saying is-"

"What you're saying is you want to invite them here, so they could put their feet up, sleep in the tents of the people they killed. Of the people that are rotting beneath us!"

"Bellamy, you're not-"

"Listening? Of course not when you're talking shit."

She clenched and unclenched her fists, praying to whatever entity existed. Her prayers were for Bellamy Blake to shut the hell up and let her get a single _sentence_ out.

But then he wouldn't be Bellamy Blake, would he?

"Bellamy-"

"Clarke-"

"CAN YOU JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR ONE SECOND?"

She was screaming now, angered by his insolent ignorance. Could he not see that she was trying to mend the relationship between the grounders? Try and establish some peace between them- minimize the number of deaths. Did he not see just how hard she was trying?

She stared at him, and saw nothing beyond the scalding glare set upon his face.

No, no he didn't.

"I am trying really hard here, Bellamy. And I need you to just hear me out on this. Okay?" She was close to pleading with him now. She wasn't thinking about herself, but the campers, wasn't thinking about all the dangers that could come of it, but the positives, the wrongs they could amend.

His face did not deter from the hard lines it was set it. Did not falter for even a second, still unforgiving, and untrustworthy. The single word he spoke was all it took for her resolve to break.

"No."

He really should have listened.

Her face fell, no longer pleading, she scowled at him, waves of hostility coming out chokingly thick.

"You are a selfish, moronic, fascist son OF A BITCH!" She started out calm, collected, but now, like always, it was going to end up with them screaming at one another.

An internal Clarke sighed. _Here we go again._

"Me? Me? _I'm _selfish? The last time I checked I wasn't the one that wanted to bring FUCKING MURDERERS INTO THE CAMP!" He screamed back at her, drawing closer to her, and using his height as an advantage.

Clarke despised looking up to yell at him.

"OHH, I'M SURE THEY'D FIT RIGHT IN!" She spat, as they stood tightly against one another, chest to chest, (sort of) eyes ablaze, and both caught up in the viciousness of the argument.

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" He growled down at her.

"Well, you're no angel." She said back, though not shouting, her voice still carried a cold menace.

"I never said I was."

She glared fiercely at him.

"You think you're any better than those grounders? The ones that tried to kill us? You are depriving innocent people of life; you're not giving them a chance to show they're not a threat. And you just want us to stand idly by, and let them die?" She shook her head in disgust.

"You really are a monster."

He stared down at her.

He was no monster.

And he would prove it.

He told himself he did it so that she wouldn't be able to call him that again, argue with him some more, or maybe he did it because he was caught up in the moment- he wasn't exactly known for making good decisions when he was angry, but he had this sinking feeling, that he had kissed Clarke Griffin, because he wanted too.

He expected her to pull back in repulsion, maybe even wipe her lips of his, but she didn't. She stood still, not exactly kissing back, but letting herself be kissed.

But that wasn't what he wanted.

He wanted her to respond.

And with that thought, he bit her bottom lip.

She gasped, and it was enough for him to slip his tongue into her mouth, his hands tangling in her hair. And finally, she gave into him, and dug her nails harshly into his shirt, her tongue battling for dominance with his.

And damn she felt good.

He gripped her thighs, lifting her into the air, and laid her on the bed. Surprisingly, she let him. She pulled away to breathe for a moment, and he began to trail hot, careful kisses on her neck, stopping and doing a particular _something _to her sweet point. She moaned in his grasp.

He loved it.

"We're going to have to, talk about... it... eventually, you know." She gasped out as he continued his torture on her neck.

"I know." He murmured against her skin. And he knew they would have to, eventually.

Just not now.

Definitely not now.

**God if I didn't feel awkward writing that last scene.**

**I'm not ****_too _****happy with these kisses, but I had to put this up. It's my birthday tomorrow, (SQUEE!) and I want to wake up to some reviews, follows, favourites, ectr. **

**Bye bye, my lovelies! **

**(I EXPECT BIRTHDAY WISHES FOR ALL MY HARD WORK. Just kidding. BUT I'M NOT.)**


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